A Bitter Sweet Letter
by Alysun
Summary: PG for darkness. SLASH PAIRING. A relationship ends rather badly and a letter is written... (D/H)


**A Bitter Sweet Letter.**

_… I like this, I think. Reviews are appreciated, as ever. There is a chance that I will write another chapter to this, a replying letter… *grin* tell me what you think!_

_~*~_

To my… my love.

My darling sweetheart. 

My forever loved.   
My sweetest angel. 

My pet. 

I can't believe I'm doing this. Remember, this is what we used to do at Hogwarts. We used to leave letters for each other in the courtyard, pinned to the underside of the sundial. We loved each other secretly, not letting anyone know. And then, when we left school, we continued the tradition with the sundial in the park. We were forever leaving little notes of apology and forgiveness here. And now I'm breaking the trend. I'm leaving a little note of uttermost hatred. 

You're going to die a death. A painful death, alone and knowing it. You're going to hurt. You're going to weep bitter tears of defiance… You're going to die, and hell, you'll blame me. You will know it's my fault, just as everything else was my fault. Because it was, wasn't it? Whatever I tried to do for you was wrong, whatever I said was inappropriate and every thought that crossed my mind was independent of you – and you hate that, don't you? But you hid it from me. You hid so many things from my innocent, prying eyes. Hid everything and made me think I knew I knew it all. Made me feel as though I had a modicum of control over you, a modicum of understanding about you. It went to my head. If anyone had cared to ask, I would have told him or her that to be with you, anywhere was to be in Utopia. You made me so incredibly happy. I loved you. And yet…and yet, you seem to be able to make me feel so small with a few harsh words and that cool glare, that cool glare that gets you your reputation. Ah, yes, your reputation. I bet you were wondering how long it'd take for me to get to your reputation. We have, after all discussed it at great length before. I say 'discussed'. Maybe 'screamed so loudly at each other till our throats hurt' would be more accurate. I took the time, with you. I took time to gradually unravel the real you, trying to dig you out of the stupid hateful image you painted for yourself. Took the time to try and get past your reputation. Get through your damnable attitude. And guess what I found out?

I found out that you are undoubtedly a true Slytherin. No member of any other house could manage to be as cruel and unfeeling as this, however thick, however distant, however intelligent or intent on pain they may be… It really annoyed me when you sank back into your façade of being nothing but a cool, suave go-getter. I know you know that. It infuriated me… you had proven to me, many, many times over that you are intelligent. And yet you insisted on making yourself look like a stupid, over-sexed prat, a daddy's boy from Slytherin house. And yet… and yet, whatever you did, you were perfect, in my foolish, unseeing eyes. Perfect, divine, beautiful and utterly…divine. Divine, Gottlich in German. Divino, in Italian. Divin in French. Caelestis, in Latin – that's the root of the word 'celestial'. And hell, you were a celestial being to me. Θείος …that's Greek. Do you want more? Shall I feed your already extensive ego some more? No. I'm through doing that. I'm through with your games, both your childish games and your dangerous games. 

Oh, no, love, you're not alone, no matter what or who you been.  

I said that to you once, one day when I found you crying. Is that a painful thing to remember? You know, I think that, yes, it is painful to recall. For both you and me. I think it burns the hell out of you, because I was nice to you through your silver cascade of tears. You would have laughed at me in your place, made the most of it. I should have, but didn't. 

Well, I suppose that's the marked difference between us, isn't it? I give a damn about people, and you couldn't care less. I want to see the world happy, and making happiness – true happiness – for other people is happiness to myself. You however… you are just a sadistic bastard, at heart. You feel no happiness at happiness, do you? You love other people's pain. I bet you love seeing me like this, hurting so badly I've been taken down to your level and…

Hurting you back. 

You won't forget me, and you won't forget this. You have made me bitter, taken away all the joy, all the light in my world and plunged me into suffocating darkness, like plunging a lighted torch, the only light in the darkest of nights, into pool of cool, invitingly cool, dark water that shimmers like laughter as it kills the flame. You killed me, took the life from me. My friends don't like being near be any more, you know that? …Yes, you probably do, don't you? They say I'm not the boy they were friends with at school. They are uncomfortable around me. They are reduced to making polite small talk, about the weather, about that day's news. It's all right though. I've sorted it all out now. I've told them all in no uncertain terms, to get the hell away from me and to stay away from me. So I'm alone now. I've even moved out from my shared house to a little flat so I could be alone. All… alone.

You made this happen. 

You. 

You, you little, irritating little Slytherin boy, pale faced like the rest, the rest of the rats that reclined in those freezing dungeons of Snape's. I reckon even Snape would be disgusted at you for this. I realise now that you nothing special. Not anything wondrous or spectacular. Just a rat in a swirling, shimmering, fabulous cloak of glamour and charisma. Your name means more in society than your face does. No one is in awe of you, my pet, not even you dear little minions. They fear your name, and then, not even that. They fear your family's name, don't they? They remember your father first… and you are just his son. I would have liked to have met your father, properly, not just in sneering passing. Maybe that way I could have blamed him for your outcome… or maybe I would have thought much more of him, like I thought much more of you when I took the top layer off and found something new, something better. Maybe he would have been as intelligent and as funny as you. And maybe he would have ruined that ideal, just like you did, by proving me wrong.

You're nothing but a lying whore, a slut not even worth the few galleons you could earn on Knockturn Alley. I just found out that you used to be a regular there. That you frequented it even in my era… 

That's all it was, wasn't it? An era. Just like the 'Blaise Era' the preceded me. And to think that I had thought it would safe, with you. I thought my heart was safe with you… that my life would be looked after in your hands. I was wrong. Just like Black was wrong about Pettigrew, I was wrong. 

Does the wording of that analogy surprise you? I wonder. I don't need them any more, I don't need anyone any more, not even you. I can't stand Dumbledore. I loathe and despise anyone who ever called themselves 'friends'. If they were true friends, they would have murdered you for even touching me.  They would have shaken me, talked some sense into me. You always were a nasty Slytherin git. They knew that, but they didn't even bother to remind me that you had no morals, no humans, no milk of human kindness. You were always just the snake that lies beneath the innocent flower. Lady Macbeth had no idea what she was telling her husband that night. What she made her husband do was positively innocent in comparison to what you've done to me. You've reduced a happy person into a state worse than even a Dementor could manage. Yes, even a Dementor. I dare say that, and I mean it, every word. You always did say I was too honest. At least even the most roughly played victim of a Dementor has no mind afterwards, no way of thinking things over for an eternity. Because that's what I am destined to do. There is no room in my mind for anything but hate. Maybe this is how you Slytherins feel when you hate. Not just the halfhearted ache of distaste and disgust, but the full heated, soul blackening hatred of all and everything. Everything that ever made me laugh, ever made me happy in the face of misery has been stolen from me. I went to the park, to watch the people there, all the happy people. I used to love that and you know I did. 

I can never go back there. 

Perhaps, if I was a different person - the unknown, inconspicuous little boy I wish I was - then maybe this would be the kind of thing that would have made me go over to Voldemort. Maybe. 

I went to Hogwarts yesterday and last night, did you know? No, you didn't. Nobody knew. I used my old cloak and wandered the halls, drinking in the old memories and childhood dreams. All those precious dreams that you took from me and shattered as you turned and laughed. I cried, and then I screamed with rage. Snape heard me. Snape, of all people! He's still there, you know. Still teaching… well. Still scaring knowledge into the heads of all the wizards and witches of the future. 

He looks terrible. 

You should go and see him… I mean this. I even mean this nicely, for Snape's sake. The greasy curtain of hair is as greasy as ever, but streaked with grey, and his cold unfeeling eyes are now as dead as road kill. His face is lined, and with anything but happiness. He's paid most dearly for the second war. Most very dearly. He's become more paranoid than ever, his hand always ready to draw his wand, ready for confrontation. The kids don't even hate him any more, you realise. 

They pity him. 

And he hates it, you can see it scarring him with every word they utter, every bowed head in his classes. He works so hard for arguments, for anger from his students and this is all he gets. Pity.  I think that he is the only person in the world who could possible even imagine how I feel. We have both been through so much, and all we are offered is a never-ending supply of useless, uncomfortable pity. I hate it as much as he does. I think that if we ever got together, we could be good for each other. I didn't stop to talk though. I don't want anything good for me. I want to rot, from the inside. And I want you to rot. In everyway there is. 

But you should go and see Snape. And don't give him pity.

Well, you wouldn't give him that anyway. You have no pity for anyone but yourself. I know this now. I know it more than I know anything else in the world. I thought that you were different, underneath. But no… You are not different underneath. Because there never was an underneath, was there? Just another show of intelligent shallowness. I hate shallowness, in anyone. I despise it in those I thought I loved. You should be an actor, I think. You could make thousands on stage. But you don't want that, do you? You don't want to be one of a group. You want to be an individual idol, to which people look up to in awe, and desire to be – and you want that just for being you. 

Well, I'm sorry to say this, but that is never going to happen. 

All right, all right, I lied. 

I'm not sorry at all. 

Someone has to disillusion you from your own miraculous, fantastic, non-existent powers. And I am taking a great delight in being the one to do so. Just like you tried to disillusion me from being the famous boy, Hogwarts' "new celebrity". The only difference being that I never needed disillusioning, while you do.  You're such an arrogant so and so. Such a peacock. So beautiful and so vain. So damned perfect. Your only flaw is your personality. You Achilles' heel, that shows itself through every time you open that perfectly formed mouth and those spiteful words come pouring out like cheap wine. 

What are you feeling now? Whilst reading this? Do you feel bad? I hope you do. I hope you realise what you have done to me now. I hope you read this and felt sick at heart at what I've turned into from you cold words and sharp laughter.  

You made me a world, so pretty, so beautiful, a world where the sun always shone, the flowers forever in bloom. 

And now you've made me a winter to go with it. 

Damnations, 

Harry. 


End file.
